


three times he tried (and one he succeeded)

by reidrights



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: First Dates, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, make a move already
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:14:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28388367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reidrights/pseuds/reidrights
Summary: “I’ve met him,” he says, truly, quietly, fervently. His soulmate. “I think I’m in love with him.” Tomorrow may claim him, but he has imprinted himself into me. Not as a memory, but an instinct. He finds himself grinning at the thought of Spencer and doesn’t even flinch when Emily calls him lover boy.Derek isn’t keen on the idea of predestined forces. Divinity fails. God rejects. But there’s this inexplicable connection, made through rambunctious dinners together and moments they inch a little too close. It makes him wonder.***In which Derek tries to ask Spencer on a date, three separate times. Little does he know, Spencer tries, too.
Relationships: Derek Morgan & Emily Prentiss, Derek Morgan/Spencer Reid, Moreid - Relationship, The BAU Team & Derek Morgan
Comments: 1
Kudos: 55





	three times he tried (and one he succeeded)

_A team bonding dinner_ . He supposes that it’s better Derek spends time with the crew than with his bumbling self, carving out words that refuse to cooperate as they had on every date Spencer’d ever been on. He’ll spare Derek the effort of practiced smiles and the beeline for the restroom ~~exit~~ when his presence becomes unbearable. When he decodes niceties he _shouldn’t_ —Derek’s blink rate, every subtlety of his body language. 

His dates typically reacted the same way—squint, laugh off the unease, bite down hostility. They’d ask, _You trying to read me, Mr. F-B-I?_ and he’d respond, _Actually, it’s Doctor_ before realizing, regret looming over bespectacled eyes, that he _hadn’t answered_ the _right question_. 

Three PhDs, and he still walked and talked like an HR crisis.

Derek notices the shift in Spencer’s demeanor. How he shoves his hands in his pockets and shifts between his feet. He’s _nervous_ , more nervous than he’s been for a while, and that says a lot for someone who’s constantly anxious. 

And honestly, Derek feels the same, even if he doesn’t show it. He’s had this reservation for months at an upscale restaurant. It feels like he’s let himself down by cancelling it without popping the question. The mind-numbing _do you want to go on a date with me_ question. 

He has one shot at this. If he doesn’t approach it right…

He doesn’t want to consider that. He _won’t_. 

_Focus, Derek._

“Hey.” Emily frowns. “What’s going on between you two?” And Derek wishes he could say, _something_ , but instead, he resigns himself to the truth. 

“Nothing.”

“You’ve been awfully antsy,” she notes, and it’s then that he realizes he’s been clenching and unclenching his jaw, tapping his foot on the ground while they wait. And wait. 

“Yeah,” he says, “I just don’t like long waits.” _Lie_. He wants to kick himself in the shin. Emily had seen him wait months for an undercover operation. No way a forty-five minute dinner wait would make him fidget like this. “Okay, fine,” he relents. “I wanted to ask someone out.” His tongue feels leaden and dry in his mouth at the words, once familiar but now foreign. 

“Spencer?” she hums. 

“You know?”

“Trust me,” she says, “I’ve seen you stealing glances at him like a lost puppy all night. You got a reservation at that restaurant?” And he opens his mouth to ask _how in the world_ she knew _that_ , but she, anticipating his question, says, “It just seems like a you thing.” 

“Yeah,” he responds, at a loss for words. “Yeah…I did. I haven’t gotten around to cancelling it, though.”

She just grins. “Check the clock.”

“What?”

“Check it.” It’s six-forty-five, fifteen minutes before he has to cancel or be the no-show asshat. He looks at her, confused by the Chesire grin that creeps up her face. 

“There’s nothing that says work dinners are mandatory.”

He sighs. “Emily, you know I can’t just skip without good reason.”

“Unless you’re sick.”

“You want us to both say we’re sick at the same time?” 

She shrugs, squares her shoulders as she looks around at their chattering teammates. “What’s stopping you?”

He scoffs. “I don’t know, ethics?”

Before he can protest, she announces, “Hey, guys?” All heads turn to her. “Derek’s not feeling well, so he’s going home early.” She gently shoves him off his seat amid a chorus of _get better soon_ ’s. 

“Derek.” There he is—bright-eyed, slightly flustered as he parts his lips. “I can drive you home…” He hangs onto each word. “Only if you want, though. I don’t want to force you to do anything.”

Derek blinks. Once, twice. Weighing his options. On one hand, he appreciates the alone time he can get with him. Maybe test the waters to see if his feelings are reciprocated. On the other hand, he has to sit next to Spencer _fucking_ Reid for a full twenty minutes and stay sane. 

He decides it’s worth the risk.

“I’d like that.”

They hop into Spencer’s car—inviting as always—and Derek takes note of the interior he’s seen countless times before. This time, Spencer’s swapped a few ancient magnets for miniature photographs. The familiar faces and the engine’s low hum reassure Derek as he grasps for words. _The_ words, for _the_ question. 

“Spencer?”

“Yeah?”

A tentative hush suspends the air.

“It’s about what you were saying to Emily, right?” and there’s an edge to his voice that Derek can’t quite decipher. But before he responds, Spencer’s begun to reverse the car with jerky motions, peering back and forth at the mirrors as they lurch out of the parking lot. 

Derek sighs. He now has not one, but three problems!

First, Spencer is incapable of driving unless the car’s dead silent, knuckles white at ten-and-two on the steering wheel. There’s no way he can ask him out until they pull over, which brings him to his second problem.

His apartment is twenty minutes away. The reservation is in ten and counting, and Spencer has a propensity for driving absurdly below the speed limit.

And third, he has no greater idea of how to broach the subject than before. Even if he did, even if Spencer didn’t insist on _minimizing cognitive distractions while driving_ , they’re on the open road. He’s far more terrified of the car’s slow yet haphazard undulations from lane to lane. Today’s not the time to play Russian Roulette with his life.

So he resigns himself to cancelling his reservation online, pretending that everything is _perfectly_ alright. When they pull up to his apartment and Spencer looks at him— _really_ looks at the slight crease of his brow and his attempt at a neutral expression—he bids goodnight with as much energy as he can muster.

“Thanks for the ride,” says Derek.

Spencer frowns.

“You okay?”

And Derek nods, feeling strange. He stands at the corner, mute, as his _friend_ pulls out of the curb. Spencer waves once before teetering back to the diner, and Derek returns the gesture. His hand remains transfixed in that half-raised position, long after Spencer’s left. When it does fall to his side, a heavy sense of resignment shadows him. 

_Till next time._ He’ll get it right, next time he has the chance. It’s a wink of positivity that slips through his mind—delicate, but unwavering. The conviction that he _can do this_ spurs him to try again. Squinting as if he can see the departed car, Derek dials the restaurant’s number. 

“Hi, this is Derek. I’d like to make a reservation for two…”

But unlike Derek, Spencer has never felt more hopeless. 

The diner tilts into view. Lights unblinking as they greet him, viciously fluorescent and granting little sympathy to his tired eyes.

There was a moment, wasn’t there? The moment they’d stopped, frozen, neither of them daring to say a word? Before the trance had broken, and Derek said a quick _night, Spencer_ as he left the car? 

Why hadn’t he said anything, then? He could’ve asked. 

“Hey, Derek, there’s this Greco-Bactrian history fair that I think you’ll love. Would you like to attend together, as a date?”

The delivery might not be as smooth, but he would’ve gotten the message across. He _could’ve_. 

Instead, he’d nodded. “Goodnight,” he had replied. Staring at Derek’s pin-straight stance in his rear view mirrors until he was no more, and the deepening night claimed him.

**Author's Note:**

> Missed writing them so much :( Constructive criticism is appreciated, esp. since I’m not quite satisfied with this but unsure how to fix it


End file.
